The Civil Rights Movement is often remembered through its most visible moments—marches, speeches, and leaders whose names echo through history. But Alice Walker’s Meridian asks us to look deeper. It tells the story of Meridian Hill, a young Black woman whose sacrifices and endurance reveal the hidden costs of freedom work.
This series explores Walker’s novel not as a simple narrative, but as a meditation on what it means to resist. Through Meridian’s journey, we see the quiet weight of activism, the overlooked labor of women, the toll of struggle on the body, and the radical act of enduring long after the spotlight fades. Each post will reflect on one of these themes, inviting us to consider how Walker’s vision speaks not only to the past but to the unfinished work of justice today.
Donald Trump’s 2028 electoral strategy is not a conventional campaign—it is a coordinated architecture of power. It is built on a convergence of tactics that extend far beyond rallies, advertisements, or even traditional party organizing. The first strategy is the symbolic deployment of National Guard troops into civilian spaces, often without clear emergency justification, to project strength and intimidate opposition. The second is structural engineering through mid‑decade gerrymandering, designed to entrench partisan advantage by redrawing maps outside the decennial cycle and shrinking the electorate in ways that disproportionately harm communities of color. The third is the use of intimidation and chilling effects, where rhetoric that criminalizes dissent, threatens election officials, and promises aggressive policing creates a climate of fear that discourages civic participation.
These three strategies are not isolated maneuvers; they are mutually reinforcing. Together, they reshape the conditions under which elections occur, narrowing the electorate, militarizing public space, and redefining who feels safe to participate in democracy. What makes this convergence especially dangerous is its judicial enablement. The Supreme Court’s shadow docket—its mechanism for issuing emergency rulings without full briefing or oral argument—has become a silent partner in this strategy. By allowing racially gerrymandered maps to stand, refusing to block restrictive voting laws, and reversing injunctions against racial profiling, the Court has provided cover for executive overreach while avoiding public accountability. In this way, the shadow docket does not merely reflect conservative ideology; it functions as an accelerant, legitimizing tactics that erode democratic norms. The 2028 election is therefore not simply a contest of votes but a constitutional inflection point, where the rules of participation themselves are being rewritten (Bernstein, 2025; Berman, 2025; Adams & Martin, 2025).
Symbolic Deployment and Performative Control
The deployment of state National Guard units into high‑visibility public spaces—often without clear emergency justification—functions as a symbolic assertion of control. These deployments are not merely reactive responses to crises; they are carefully staged performances designed to send political messages. They signal allegiance to a law‑and‑order narrative, project strength to Trump’s base, and simultaneously unsettle communities deemed oppositional. The presence of uniformed personnel in civilian spaces is not neutral. It is a visual reminder that dissent can be met with force, and that the state is willing to militarize public life in service of political ends (Bernstein, 2025).
The timing and location of these deployments often coincide with political flashpoints, such as protests, local elections, or moments of heightened national debate. This suggests strategic intent rather than reactive necessity. By placing troops in urban centers with large populations of color, the administration reinforces racialized narratives of disorder and criminality, while also normalizing the use of military force in civilian governance. As Adams and Martin (2025) note, the performative use of state power in electoral contexts is part of a broader “playbook” that seeks to redefine the boundaries of acceptable political action. In this sense, the National Guard is not just a security apparatus—it is a campaign tool, deployed to shape perception, intimidate opposition, and consolidate authority.
Structural Engineering: Mid‑Decade Gerrymandering as Durable Advantage
The practice of mid‑decade gerrymandering represents one of the most durable forms of structural engineering in Trump’s 2028 strategy. Unlike campaign rhetoric or temporary deployments of the National Guard, redistricting creates long‑lasting shifts in political power that extend well beyond a single election cycle. By redrawing district lines outside the traditional ten‑year census process, partisan actors can lock in advantages that persist for years, even if demographic changes or voter preferences shift in ways that would otherwise alter outcomes. This tactic is particularly potent because it reshapes the electorate itself, determining not only who wins but also whose votes carry weight in the first place (Berman, 2025).
The durability of mid‑decade gerrymandering lies in its ability to insulate political power from accountability. Once maps are redrawn, they are difficult to challenge, especially when the Supreme Court has signaled through its shadow docket that it will not intervene to block racially discriminatory or partisan maps. This judicial passivity effectively green‑lights structural manipulation, allowing legislatures to entrench partisan dominance under the guise of administrative necessity. For communities of color, the consequences are profound: dilution of voting strength, fragmentation of community representation, and the reinforcement of systemic exclusion from policymaking processes (Adams & Martin, 2025). In this way, gerrymandering functions as a form of political engineering that cements inequality into the very architecture of democracy.
Intimidation and Chilling Effects
Public rhetoric that demonizes political opponents, labels dissent as criminal, and threatens legal action against voters and officials contributes to a climate of fear. This fear is not abstract—it has measurable effects. The threat of surveillance, arrest, or public shaming discourages civic participation and undermines the expectation that elections can be engaged without retaliation. Statements about sending troops to “Democrat‑run cities,” praise for aggressive policing, and direct attacks on election officials operate as both message and method. The goal is not merely to win elections; it is to define who feels safe participating in them and to deter the oversight functions that make elections credible (Berman, 2025).
Racial Overtones and Structural Targeting
This strategy is not race‑neutral. The deployment of National Guard troops to “Democrat‑run cities” is often aimed at jurisdictions with large Black, Latino, and immigrant populations. These actions are framed as responses to crime or unrest, but they function as racialized spectacles designed to reinforce fear, justify surveillance, and signal dominance over communities of color (Bernstein, 2025).
Similarly, voter suppression tactics—ID laws, polling place closures, registration purges, and targeted disinformation—disproportionately affect Black and brown voters and low‑income communities. These measures are not incidental; they are engineered to shrink the electorate in ways that preserve white political power. The rhetoric surrounding these laws often invokes fraud, chaos, or “urban” mismanagement, reinforcing racialized narratives of disorder (Berman, 2025).
The Supreme Court’s shadow docket has enabled these tactics by refusing to block racially gerrymandered maps, allowing discriminatory laws to take effect without full review, and dismissing factual findings of racial harm. In immigration cases, the Court has reversed injunctions against racial profiling, despite clear evidence of abuse. These rulings do not merely reflect conservative ideology—they reflect a willingness to ignore race‑based harm in favor of executive consolidation (NewsNation, 2025).
This racial dimension is not a footnote—it is central. The architecture of Trump’s strategy depends on racialized fear, exclusion, and control. The Court’s silence in the face of these patterns is not neutrality—it is complicity.
The Supreme Court’s Shadow Docket and Judicial Enablement
The Supreme Court’s shadow docket—its mechanism for issuing emergency rulings without full briefing or oral argument—has become a pipeline for executive‑friendly decisions. Under Trump’s administration, emergency petitions surged, and the Court granted relief in a striking majority of cases. These rulings often lacked explanation, vote counts, or legal reasoning, yet they carried sweeping consequences (Brennan Center for Justice, 2022).
This pattern reflects a jurisprudential shift: the Court is no longer the honest arbiter of the Constitution. It has become a conduit for executive consolidation, issuing rulings that bypass deliberation and silence dissent.
In immigration, voting rights, and protest‑related cases, the Court’s shadow docket has consistently favored executive authority. The case of Noem v. Vasquez Perdomo exemplifies this trend: the Court reversed a lower‑court injunction against racial profiling by immigration officers in Los Angeles, despite extensive factual findings. Justice Kavanaugh’s majority opinion dismissed the documented harms as “brief” and “typically resolved,” while Justice Sotomayor’s dissent emphasized the government’s failure to rebut evidence of illegal conduct (NewsNation, 2025).
Abandonment of Precedent and Voting Rights
The expanded use of emergency orders has facilitated an erosion of stare decisis. Laws that contradict established precedent have been allowed to take effect through unsigned or brief orders, reshaping substantive rights before full merits review. In Whole Woman’s Health v. Jackson, the Court allowed a Texas abortion ban to take effect via a one‑paragraph, unsigned order—despite its direct conflict with Roe v. Wade. Months later, Roe was formally overturned, but the shadow docket had already signaled the Court’s intent (Brennan Center for Justice, 2022).
In voting rights cases, the Court has weakened the Voting Rights Act, refused to block racially gerrymandered maps, and allowed restrictive laws to take effect without full review. In Brnovich v. Democratic National Committee, the majority redefined the standard for voting‑rights violations, making it harder to challenge discriminatory laws. These rulings align with Trump’s broader strategy: reduce access, increase control, and insulate power from accountability (Berman, 2025).
The Collision: Law, Power, and Democratic Erosion
The convergence of Trump’s tactics and the Court’s jurisprudence is structural, not coincidental. The executive deploys force and manipulates rules; the judiciary legitimizes those moves through opaque rulings and doctrinal shifts. The result is a feedback loop of consolidation, where each branch accelerates the other’s erosion of democratic norms. Emergency powers, once reserved for wartime exigencies, are invoked to justify domestic deployments. The shadow docket, once a procedural tool, becomes a vehicle for policy transformation. Precedent, once a stabilizing force, is treated as discretionary. This collision is not theoretical; it is unfolding in real time, narrowing the conditions under which dissent, oversight, and equal participation can survive (Bernstein, 2025; Berman, 2025).
Policy Implications and Social Work Policy Practice
The convergence of executive overreach, judicial enablement through the shadow docket, and racially targeted electoral manipulation demands an assertive, macro‑level social work response grounded in constitutional literacy and trauma‑informed practice. Policy social workers must translate complex legal shifts—such as emergency powers used for domestic deployments, mid‑cycle redistricting, and quietly issued Court orders that weaken voting rights—into accessible guidance for coalitions and communities, while actively drafting, advocating, and monitoring reform bills that restore due process, transparency, and enforcement capacity across civil rights and election administration.
This work calls for sustained constituent education that names racialized harm without euphemism, builds protective infrastructures such as legal clinics, rapid‑response observation, and voter access audits, and centers survivor‑informed analysis in spaces where surveillance, policing, and intimidation erode civic participation. At the intergovernmental level, macro practitioners should coordinate watchdog functions—tracking agency rulemaking, state emergency statutes, and judicial trends—to anticipate harm and propose corrective policy instruments, including limits on emergency deployment, statutory guardrails on redistricting timing and methodology, and requirements for reasoned judicial explanations in consequential orders. Above all, social work policy practice must reclaim legitimacy by modeling ethical resistance: documenting violations with precision, elevating community testimony into statutory text, and reinforcing democratic conditions—free from fear, coercion, and exclusion—under which marginalized communities can vote, organize, and govern.
Conclusion: The 2028 Election as a Constitutional Inflection Point
The 2028 election will not be decided solely by ballots; it will be shaped by the structural conditions under which those ballots are cast. If current trends continue, elections may be conducted under heightened surveillance, reduced access, and intensified intimidation, while judicial silence obscures the legal rationales that permit such conditions. The legitimacy of outcomes will depend not only on counts but on whether the process itself remains protected by transparency, precedent, and rights enforcement. This moment demands clarity, courage, and constitutional stewardship. The collision between Trump’s strategy and the Court’s shadow docket is not merely a legal concern—it is a democratic emergency that requires disciplined, survivor‑informed, and trauma‑aware policy practice. For social workers, advocates, and policy practitioners, the challenge is not only to resist authoritarian drift but to model the democratic values of inclusion, accountability, and dignity that must be preserved if the Constitution is to remain a living document rather than a hollow symbol.
References
Adams, R., & Martin, S. (2025). Redistricting and the erosion of democratic norms. New York: Democracy Press.
Berman, A. (2025). Minority rule: The rise of voter suppression in America. New York: Penguin Random House.
Bernstein, J. (2025). The politics of performance: Trump, spectacle, and state power. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press.
NewsNation. (2025). Supreme Court reverses injunction in Noem v. Vasquez Perdomo. Retrieved from https://www.newsnationnow.com
Authorship and Intellectual Property Statement
This original work was authored by DeMecia Wooten‑Irizarry, MSW, MPA, LSWDoctor of Social Work Candidate (Policy Practice),
All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced, republished, or distributed without express written permission from the author. Attribution must reflect the author’s full credentials and intent. This work reflects a policy practice and community engagement lens rooted in macro social work values, constitutional literacy, and statutory interpretation
Donald Trump’s presidency has been extensively documented in peer-reviewed literature as a period of intensified corruption, institutional erosion, and executive dysfunction. These findings are not abstract—they carry direct implications for social work policy practitioners committed to ethical governance, democratic accountability, and the structural conditions that shape equitable service delivery.
A 2024 study published in Applied Economics Letters by Fischer found a statistically significant rise in perceived public-sector corruption during Trump’s first term. The analysis linked this shift to nepotistic appointments, including Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner, repeated attacks on federal institutions such as the FBI and Department of Justice, and the post-presidency storage of classified documents at Mar-a-Lago. These actions contributed to a measurable erosion of public trust in executive integrity and institutional safeguards (Fischer, 2024).
This erosion has deepened in Trump’s second term, now fortified by the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling in Trump v. United States (2024). The Court granted presidents absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions within their constitutional authority and presumptive immunity for all official acts. Only unofficial conduct remains prosecutable. This decision delayed Trump’s federal election interference trial and effectively placed the presidency beyond the reach of criminal accountability for a wide range of abuses (Supreme Court of the United States, 2024; PBS NewsHour, 2024).
Shielded by this legal precedent, Trump has pursued a series of lucrative foreign ventures that blur the line between public office and private gain. His family secured a $2 billion cryptocurrency partnership with the United Arab Emirates, followed by an AI chip sale that raised national security concerns. Ethics waivers were granted to allies involved in the negotiations, and dissenting officials were removed—further evidence of retaliatory governance and the dismantling of internal oversight (Bellows, 2025).
In Corruption and Illiberal Politics in the Trump Era, Goldstein and Drybread document how Trump’s administration rewarded loyalty, repressed dissent, and normalized authoritarian behavior. The contributors detail how judicial appointments were used to entrench partisan control, how regulatory rollbacks favored private interests over public welfare, and how rhetorical attacks on civil society undermined democratic norms (Goldstein & Drybread, 2022).
Writing in Political Science Quarterly, Kuhner describes Trump’s leadership as a “tyranny of greed,” linking his rise to systemic dysfunction, racial resentment, and unchecked executive power. He emphasizes Trump’s impeachment for inciting the January 6 insurrection as a turning point in democratic erosion, framing the presidency as a case of authoritarian drift masked by populist appeal (Kuhner, 2021).
Further evidence from Littvay, McCoy, and Simonovits shows that democratic norm violations became more acceptable to voters during Trump’s presidency. Their study in Public Opinion Quarterly found that partisan loyalty increasingly outweighed commitment to democratic principles, with many Americans endorsing executive overreach when it aligned with their political interests (Littvay, McCoy, & Simonovits, 2024).
For social work policy practitioners, these developments are not peripheral—they are central. Executive corruption and impunity reverberate through funding priorities, civil rights enforcement, and public trust. When the highest office is shielded from accountability, marginalized communities bear the brunt of policy instability and institutional decay. The Supreme Court’s immunity ruling has not only altered the legal landscape—it has redefined the ethical terrain in which social work must operate. These scholarly insights offer a critical foundation for understanding how executive behavior shapes the policy environment and why social work must remain committed to democratic accountability, transparency, and justice.
Fischer, S. (2024). The impact of the Trump presidency on the perception of corruption in the United States. Applied Economics Letters. https://doi.org/10.1080/13504851.2024.2363294
Goldstein, D. M., & Drybread, K. (Eds.). (2022). Corruption and illiberal politics in the Trump era. Routledge.
Kuhner, T. K. (2021). Tyranny of greed: Trump, corruption, and the revolution to come. Political Science Quarterly, 136(3), 596–597. https://doi.org/10.1002/polq.13219
Littvay, L., McCoy, J. L., & Simonovits, G. (2024). It’s not just Trump: Americans of both parties support liberal democratic norm violations more under their own president. Public Opinion Quarterly, 88(3), 1044–1058. https://doi.org/10.1093/poq/nfae042
Stephen Miller’s influence on U.S. immigration policy has been profound and controversial; his policymaking role helped produce measures that many observers say tightened asylum access, lowered refugee admissions, and prioritized enforcement over humanitarian relief (France 24, 2025). The moral and rhetorical irony in Miller’s case is clear: his maternal family fled anti-Jewish violence in Eastern Europe, and relatives have publicly called out the contradiction between that family history and the exclusionary policies he championed (Glosser, 2018; Associated Press, 2025).
Policy choices are not abstract. They map onto family histories, survival strategies, and lived vulnerability. Miller’s uncle publicly described the tension bluntly and personally, calling his nephew’s policy posture “hypocritical” given their family’s immigrant past (Glosser, 2018). Other relatives and extended-family critics have echoed that sentiment, centering moral memory—the phrase “never again” invoked in Jewish memory—as a civic critique of modern enforcement measures (Associated Press, 2025; The Independent, 2025).
As a social work macro practitioner specializing in policy practice and community engagement, I read these family testimonies as civic interventions. Family witnesses do three things in policy debates: they humanize abstract rules, they expose historical inconsistency when policymakers’ own ancestries would have been excluded under their rules, and they create persuasive moral pressure that can open political windows for reform (Glosser, 2018; Common Dreams, 2018).
But moral witness alone rarely drives systemic change. Effective reform requires combining testimony with evidence, litigation, and organizing that translates moral outrage into policy alternatives. Academics, advocates, and practitioners should pair stories like the Glossers’ with data on the human costs of enforcement, administrative rulemaking that expands asylum access, and legislative strategies that protect due process (France 24, 2025).
Practical policy implications
• Center immigrant voices and family histories in policymaking processes to counter dehumanizing narratives (Glosser, 2018).
• Use family testimony as part of broader advocacy strategies that include empirical evidence, strategic litigation, and coalition building across faith and civil-rights organizations (Common Dreams, 2018; The Independent, 2025).
• Demand transparency and historical accountability from policy architects whose proposals would have excluded their own ancestors, using that irony to shift public framing and media attention (Associated Press, 2025).
Conclusion
Remembering matters. The public dissent of Miller’s relatives reframes policy debate by linking genealogical memory to contemporary harms. When policy architects lose sight of the human histories that underpin immigration, law becomes divorced from the moral commitments that once justified refuge. For those of us working at the intersection of policy and community engagement, that dissonance is an organizing opportunity: to insist that historical truth and human dignity inform the laws that govern belonging.
Intellectual Property Statement
This original work was authored by DeMecia Wooten‑Irizarry, MSW, MPA, Doctor of Social Work Candidate (Policy Practice), Licensed Social Worker. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced, republished, or distributed without express written permission from the author. Attribution must reflect the author’s full credentials and intent. This work reflects a policy practice and community engagement lens rooted in macro social work values and statutory interpretation.
Stephen Miller helped shape a suite of U.S. immigration policies that tightened asylum access, reduced refugee admissions, and prioritized enforcement over humanitarian protection (France 24, 2025). The moral irony is stark: Miller’s maternal family fled anti‑Jewish violence in Eastern Europe, and several relatives have publicly criticized his immigration agenda as inconsistent with that family history (Glosser, 2018; Associated Press, 2025).
Why this matters
Policy is not abstract. Laws and administrative rules map onto real families, survival strategies, and historical memory. When those who design exclusionary rules have family stories of refuge, the dissonance becomes a powerful civic critique that can reframe public debate and open windows for reform (Glosser, 2018; Common Dreams, 2018).
Family testimony as civic intervention
Family witnesses do three practical things in public policy debates:
• Humanize abstract rules by linking them to lived experience (Glosser, 2018).
• Expose historical inconsistency when a policymaker’s ancestry would have been excluded under policies they now support (Associated Press, 2025).
• Apply moral pressure that can catalyze media attention and political organizing (Common Dreams, 2018; The Independent, 2025).
Miller’s uncle and other relatives have made these points publicly, describing a family history of migration from Eastern Europe and expressing dismay at policies they view as hostile to refugees and asylum seekers (Glosser, 2018; Associated Press, 2025).
Translating moral witness into policy change
Moral testimony matters, but it is rarely sufficient on its own. For family testimony to influence durable reform, advocates should pair it with three complementary strategies:
1. Evidence: document the human costs of enforcement with empirical research and case studies (France 24, 2025).
2. Law: pursue strategic litigation and administrative challenges that protect due process and asylum access (France 24, 2025).
3. Organizing: build coalitions across faith, immigrant‑rights, and civil‑rights organizations to convert moral outrage into legislative and administrative pressure (Common Dreams, 2018; The Independent, 2025).
Practical policy implications
1. Center immigrant voices and family histories in policymaking to counter dehumanizing narratives and ground debates in lived experience (Glosser, 2018).
2. Use verified family testimony strategically alongside empirical evidence and legal strategy to strengthen advocacy campaigns (Common Dreams, 2018).
3. Demand transparency and historical accountability from policy architects whose proposals would have excluded their own ancestors; use that irony to shift public framing and media attention (Associated Press, 2025).
Conclusion
Remembering matters. The public dissent of Miller’s relatives reframes policy debate by linking genealogical memory to contemporary harms. When policy architects lose sight of the human histories that underpin immigration, law can become divorced from the moral commitments that once justified refuge. For those of us working at the intersection of policy and community engagement, that dissonance is an organizing opportunity: insist that historical truth and human dignity inform the laws that govern belonging.
Intellectual Property Statement
This original work was authored by DeMecia Wooten‑Irizarry, MSW, MPA, Doctor of Social Work Candidate (Policy Practice), Licensed Social Worker. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced, republished, or distributed without express written permission from the author. Attribution must reflect the author’s full credentials and intent. This work reflects a policy practice and community engagement lens rooted in macro social work values and statutory interpretation.
In times of political unrest, statutory language becomes more than a legal framework—it becomes a reflection of power, vulnerability, and contested authority. Two federal statutes stand at the center of this tension: the Insurrection Act, reorganized in 1907 and codified as 10 U.S.C. §§ 251–255, and 18 U.S.C. § 2383, which criminalizes rebellion or insurrection against the United States. Though distinct in purpose, these laws converge in their capacity to authorize force and define dissent.
The Insurrection Act, first enacted in 1792 and amended through Reconstruction, was formally reorganized in 1907 to consolidate federal authority over domestic military deployment. It permits the President to use federal troops or state militias to suppress insurrection, enforce federal law, or protect constitutional rights when state governments are unable or unwilling to act. Its language is expansive:
“The President may use the militia or the armed forces to suppress any insurrection, domestic violence, unlawful combination, or conspiracy if it hinders the execution of U.S. laws” (10 U.S.C. § 252).
“The President may act if insurrection or domestic violence deprives people of constitutional rights and state authorities cannot or will not protect those rights” (10 U.S.C. § 253).
These provisions temporarily suspend the Posse Comitatus Act, which ordinarily prohibits federal military involvement in civilian law enforcement. While the Insurrection Act requires a presidential proclamation ordering insurgents to disperse (10 U.S.C. § 254), it does not require judicial review or congressional approval before deployment. This lack of oversight has raised concerns among legal scholars and civil rights advocates, particularly when invoked in politically charged contexts (Nunn, 2025).
Complementing this executive authority is 18 U.S.C. § 2383, a criminal statute that targets individuals who incite or participate in rebellion against U.S. authority:
“Whoever incites, sets on foot, assists, or engages in any rebellion or insurrection against the authority of the United States or the laws thereof… shall be fined… imprisoned… and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States” (18 U.S.C. § 2383, 1948).
Unlike the Insurrection Act, which empowers the President to respond to unrest, § 2383 is prosecutorial in nature. It has been rarely used, in part because its application requires clear evidence of intent to overthrow or resist federal authority—not merely protest or civil disobedience. Prosecutors often rely instead on related statutes such as seditious conspiracy (18 U.S.C. § 2384) or obstruction of an official proceeding (18 U.S.C. § 1512), which offer more precise thresholds and are less vulnerable to First Amendment challenges (Levin, 2022).
Recent threats to invoke the Insurrection Act—most notably by President Donald Trump in response to civil unrest in cities like Portland and Chicago—have reignited public scrutiny of both statutes. Governors and attorneys general responded with lawsuits and public statements, citing constitutional violations and the risk of federal overreach (Garrison, 2025; Pritzker, 2025; Woodward, 2025). These events underscore the urgent need for civic literacy and statutory clarity.
As a social work macro practitioner specializing in policy practice and community engagement, I view these statutes as lenses through which we must examine the intersection of law, power, and public accountability. They invite critical questions: When does protection become suppression? When does authority become overreach? And how do we, as policy advocates, ensure that statutory language is not weaponized against the communities we serve?
Citizens are not without recourse. Legal remedies include petitioning Congress for oversight and reform, filing suit in federal court to challenge unauthorized deployments, and seeking review by the U.S. Supreme Court when constitutional rights are at stake. Public education and advocacy also play a vital role in demystifying these laws and resisting their misuse.
In advocacy, clarity matters. So does vigilance. The Insurrection Act and 18 U.S.C. § 2383—reorganized and codified over a century ago—remain active instruments of governance. They remind us that law is not static. It is activated by context, shaped by power, and challenged by those who dare to speak truth to it.
Intellectual Property Statement
This original work was authored by DeMecia Wooten‑Irizarry, MSW, MPA, Doctor of Social Work Candidate (Policy Practice), Licensed Social Worker. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced, republished, or distributed without express written permission from the author. Attribution must reflect the author’s full credentials and intent. This work reflects a policy practice and community engagement lens rooted in macro social work values and statutory interpretation.
Levin, D. (2022). Insurrection, protest, and the First Amendment: Legal thresholds and prosecutorial discretion. Georgetown Law Journal, 110(3), 601–634.
How historical precedent and statutory limits should shape legislative oversight of domestic force and emergency authorities
Historical precedent: The escalation of state power that first targets a defined group and then broadens repression has clear precedent in twentieth‑century Germany. Scholarly histories document how exclusionary laws, administrative measures, and policing practices removed civil liberties from Jewish populations and then expanded to political opponents and other vulnerable groups as authoritarian control merged (Shirer, 1960; Evans, 2003; Friedlander, 1997; Browning, 1992).
Military and domestic law‑enforcement limits: Federal law generally prohibits routine use of the U.S. Armed Forces for domestic law enforcement (Posse Comitatus Act, 18 U.S.C. § 1385); the Insurrection Act contains narrowly defined statutory exceptions permitting federal military action under specific conditions (Insurrection Act, 10 U.S.C. §§ 251–255). State National Guard deployments are governed by state law when under gubernatorial control and change legal status when federalized.
Limited legal bases for executive emergency responses: The President may declare a national emergency under the National Emergencies Act, which activates specified statutory authorities delegated by Congress and is subject to congressional review and termination procedures (National Emergencies Act, 50 U.S.C. § 1601 et seq.). Other statutory authorities relevant to extraordinary domestic actions include disaster and public‑health statutes, economic mobilization authorities, and homeland‑security and immigration statutes that authorize agency responses within defined limits (Robert T. Stafford Disaster Relief and Emergency Assistance Act, 42 U.S.C. § 5121 et seq.; Defense Production Act, 50 U.S.C. § 4501 et seq.; Homeland Security Act, 6 U.S.C. § 101 et seq.). Executive action remains subject to constitutional and judicial review, including limits described in Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer (343 U.S. 579 (1952)).
Oversight imperatives: For any extraordinary domestic deployments or enforcement operations, oversight should verify the legal authority invoked; the factual predicate for invoking emergency or Insurrection Act exceptions; chain of command and control status (state versus federal); safeguards for civil liberties and non‑discrimination; and transparency measures and reporting provided to Congress and affected communities.
References
Browning, C. R. (1992). Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland. New York, NY: HarperCollins.
Defense Production Act of 1950, 50 U.S.C. § 4501 et seq. (1950).
Evans, R. J. (2003). The Coming of the Third Reich. New York, NY: Penguin Press.
Friedlander, S. (1997). Nazi Germany and the Jews, 1933–1945. New York, NY: HarperCollins.
Insurrection Act, 10 U.S.C. §§ 251–255.
National Emergencies Act, 50 U.S.C. § 1601 et seq. (1976).
Posse Comitatus Act, 18 U.S.C. § 1385.
Robert T. Stafford Disaster Relief and Emergency Assistance Act, 42 U.S.C. § 5121 et seq. (1988).
Shirer, W. L. (1960). The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich: A History of Nazi Germany. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster.
Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer, 343 U.S. 579 (1952).
America’s founding myth celebrates liberty, but its historical reality is rooted in slavery, racial violence, and systemic exclusion. The revision of history—especially around slavery, the Constitution, and civil rights—is not just academic; it is a moral imperative. It determines whose stories are told, whose suffering is acknowledged, and whose dignity is restored.
The Constitution’s Complicity in Slavery
The U.S. Constitution, often revered as a symbol of freedom, was crafted with explicit protections for slavery. These were not accidental omissions—they were strategic concessions to slaveholding states. Article I, Section 2 (the Three-Fifths Compromise) counted enslaved people as three-fifths of a person for congressional representation, reinforcing their dehumanization. Article I, Section 9 delayed the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade until 1808, allowing the continued importation of enslaved Africans. Article IV, Section 2 (the Fugitive Slave Clause) required the return of escaped enslaved people, legitimizing human bondage across state lines. These clauses embedded white supremacy into the nation’s legal framework, ensuring that enslavers retained political and economic power (Finkelman, 2001).
Historical Revisionism: Truth vs. Sanitization
Efforts to revise American history have intensified in recent years. The 1619 Project, launched by The New York Times Magazine, reframed the national origin story by placing slavery and Black resistance at the center (Hannah-Jones, 2019). It argued that 1619—the year enslaved Africans arrived in Virginia—is a more honest founding date than 1776. In response, the Trump administration created the 1776 Commission, which promoted a sanitized version of U.S. history that downplayed slavery, systemic racism, and the contributions of Black Americans (Mockaitis, 2025). This revisionist effort sought to restore a mythic past, one that erases the trauma and resistance of marginalized communities. Even public spaces have become battlegrounds for historical truth. At Independence National Historic Park, efforts to remove exhibits acknowledging slavery reflect a broader attempt to obscure the Constitution’s role in upholding racial hierarchy (Mockaitis, 2025).
From Emancipation to Civil Rights—and Beyond
The abolition of slavery in 1865 did not dismantle the systems of racial control. Instead, they evolved. During Reconstruction (1865–1877), brief gains in Black political power were violently overturned by white supremacist backlash. The Jim Crow Era (1877–1954) followed, codifying legal segregation, voter suppression, and racial terror. The Civil Rights Movement (1954–1968) brought landmark victories like Brown v. Board of Education (1954) and the Civil Rights Act (1964), challenging institutional racism and expanding civil liberties. Yet even after these gains, mass incarceration, redlining, and economic exclusion emerged as new tools of racial control (Alexander, 2010). Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow (2010) argues that mass incarceration functions as a modern caste system, disproportionately targeting Black Americans through punitive drug laws, surveillance, and prison labor schemes that echo slavery’s coercive logic.
Neo-Jim Crow in the 21st Century
Today, the push toward a 21st-century Jim Crow is not cloaked in overt segregation but in policies and cultural shifts that suppress truth and reinforce racial hierarchy. Voter suppression laws in over 20 states disproportionately affect Black and Brown communities, especially in the South. These include ID requirements, purges of voter rolls, and restrictions on early voting (Brennan Center for Justice, 2021). Educational gag orders in more than 35 states restrict the teaching of racism, slavery, and systemic inequality. These policies mirror historical censorship and aim to erase the trauma of marginalized communities (Mockaitis, 2025). Meanwhile, the prison system continues to disproportionately target Black Americans, with prison labor functioning as a modern form of coerced labor (Alexander, 2010). These trends reflect a backlash against racial justice movements and a desire to restore racial hierarchies under new guises. They are not relics of the past—they are reinventions of old systems, adapted to modern legal and cultural frameworks.
Why This Matters
Historical revisionism, when rooted in truth and justice, is not distortion—it is repair. It is a principled act of reclaiming erased narratives, confronting systemic harm, and honoring the resistance of those who fought—and continue to fight—for dignity. To confront the resurgence of neo-Jim Crow, we must tell the full story. We must name the Constitution’s complicity, honor the resistance of enslaved and oppressed peoples, and reject sanitized myths that obscure systemic harm. This is not merely a debate over curriculum—it is a struggle over memory, power, and justice.
References
Alexander, M. (2010). The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. The New Press.
Social Work Policy Practice 